I think somewhere during writing this it turned into a generic story about a guy with amnesia, but I think it's pretty good.

I was strong and handsome once. That's what the letter on my nightstand tells me. "You were strong and handsome once. Remember that, if nothing else." The writing is feminine although I don't recognize the writing. The paper it's written on is old and only has one more sentence. "You have amnesia John."

I stumble out of bed and look out the window. The sun hasn't risen yet so I look to the nightstand only to find there there is no clock. I shuffle my way to the master bathroom. I study myself in the mirror, but I don't recognize my own face. Every aspect is foreign. The angle of my chin, the stubble on my cheeks, the short pile of gray hair on my head, even the green color of my eyes. My head starts spinning and I feel like crying.

I take advantage of my location in the bathroom and relieve myself before exploring more of the house. As unfamiliar as my surrounding are, I get the feeling I've been here before. I exit the master bedroom and make my way towards the kitchen just down the hall. The kitchen was small, but the walls were covered with pictures of a young couple on their wedding day. The man was a muscular, gentle looking man in his early twenties, while the woman was kind-looking and slightly older. A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I look at the picture. There seems to words written on the bottom of the photo, but I can't read the small letters. I do, however, observe a striking similarity between the man's face and my own. I pick up the picture and study the woman's face more closely. She seems vaguely familiar and this frustrates me. Based on the circumstances presented in the photograph, I was obviously married to this woman and I can't remember her. It bothers me more than my failure to remember my own face and I can't place a reason as to why. I must have deeply loved this woman at one point in time and now I can't even remember her name.

After seeing the picture of my wedding day, I make my way to the living room to look for anything I may remember from my past life. I find a bookshelf by the television. I search it, hoping to find a photo album, or anything that may contain information about my wife. There is nothing. I then search the bedroom for something that could belong to a woman, but the room is very male oriented. No matter where I look I can't find any evidence of a woman living here. Just as I am about to give up hope I hear a knock on the door. I leave the bedroom to answer the door. I reach for the doorknob, about to open the door, when I hesitate.

"Hello?" I say to the person on the other side of the door.

"John, open up, it's your uncle."

Curious, I open the door. On the other side is a man with green eyes, just like mine, and a raincoat, despite the fact that there is not a cloud in the sky.

"Good to see you again John," he tells me.

"Nice to meet you," I reply.

"It must be," he says in turn, "I've always imagined it would be pleasant to meet me for the first time. Lucky you! Getting to reintroduce yourself to me every week."

"Every week?" I ask.

"Yes," he answers, "Sundays are my turn."

"I don't understand, what do you mean by turn?"

"Well! To continue on the path of introductions, I'm here to take you to Tabitha!"

He trails off there and his face become flush, like his mother had just kissed in front of his crush.

"You do know I have amnesia, don't you?" I say to him.

" Do I know? The question is do you know?" He snaps.
"No of course not, that would be insane!" I reply, imitating his emphasis.

"Watch you mouth boy, I'm still a good deal more insane than you. Which is to say, older. Now hurry up! She's expecting to see you in half an hour, and she'll have my head if we're late again."

"Slow down, I'm not even sure who you are, let alone this Tabitha. How can I be sure you really are my uncle."

"Every time," he mumbles while taking out his wallet, "Every damn time it's 'Are you really my uncle?' or, 'How can I trust you won't beat me bloody and leave me in the street?' You always were too cautious for your own good." The man reached for his back pocket and removed his wallet. He then removed a photo from one on the clear slots, the same photo I found sitting in the kitchen. My jaw drops with out my permission.

"Here you go," he offers, thrusting the photograph in my direction.

"This is Tabitha?" I ask, trying not to sound surprised.

"The one and only," he says. "Now will you step out of the doorway and come with me?"

I am still uncertain, but I am also eager to meet my wife, so I agree.

Within the hour, my supposed uncle had us parked in front of a small, man-and-pop motel I had never heard of. He tells my Tabitha is in room 4B, and that he will wait in the car.

"I'm not one to get in the way of big lovey-dovey reunions," he explains. "Besides, we got here late, and I don't want my head anywhere except for square between my small, retired shoulders."

"You're really afraid of her, aren't you?" I say.

"Don't worry, soon enough you will be too. Now get out of my car and into that room before I take your head off."

"Alright, alright," I yield. "See you next Sunday."

"Can't wait to meet you," he says as he pulls away, laughing his head off as if he had said the most clever thing in history. Crazy bastard I think.
I make my way to room 4B and knock on the door. The door opens before I even have time to second guess myself. Behind the door, the woman from the picture is standing there. She steps out the door and shuts us both out.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispers. "I can't talk long."

Puzzled, I ask her what she means.

"I have to leave soon," she tells me. She brushes her hair behind her ear, gray with traces of its former black. "I just wanted you to know that I still love you, even though you don't remember me," she paused to wipe a tear from her cheek. "When you were younger all the girls lined up for a chance to go on a date with you you were so handsome and sweet. I was surprised when you fell in love with me of all people. It's sad how soon you forget. The doctor said it could become like this. Forgetting everything when you go to sleep. That's why I'm leaving. I can't take it anymore." She begins to sob.

I don't know how to comfort her, I'm fighting back tears myself. I try to wrap my arms around her but she shrugs me off, says "I just wanted you to know," then she runs off.

I'm left to stare at the door of a ratty motel room while my heart races. A thousand thought run through my mind as I try to process what just happened. My heart beats faster. Tears run down my face when I realize how bad my luck is. My left arm goes numb. My mind turn to my amnesia. What caused it? My knees give out and things start to go black. "Tabitha," I whisper as I collapse to the ground.

I wake up. I hear the mechanical beeps of hospital equipment but I don't know how I know that, or how I got here. I look to my side and see a man slightly older than me wearing a raincoat. He's holding a letter.

"Nice to meet you John," he says. "Got your mail for you."

I open the letter and the writing is feminine.
"You were strong and handsome once. Remember that, if nothing else. You have amnesia John." I turn the letter around.

Happy December 21st Australia and congratulations on surviving! The fact that you haven't been destroyed is proof of one of two things: Either you're too unimportant to be decimated, or whatever Angels of Death that would kill us all would prefer to do at all at once.

Whatever the reason, your still alive, so let's play a game (side-note, you do not have to be the country of Australia to play). Choose one country you would spare from the end of the world (excluding the country you live in) and explain why.

I choose the United Kingdom because all those British accents would be very effective at consoling me.